Breaking
by Blackpenny
Summary: The relationship between Sharkey and Olrik is more reciprocal than one might think.
1. First Break

**First Break**

 _Before Voronov…_

Most people think they know all about Michael Malone Sharkey after five minutes. He looks like a blond gorilla and he sounds like a thug; what more would you even want to know?

Well, for one thing, Sharkey is fairly cheerful, well-adjusted guy among his own kind. He didn't become a crime boss's bodyguard because society drove him into the cold. Crime is just a job for him. His father and grandfather were both minor enforcers and bagmen while his mother brewed moonshine and helped girls "in trouble," either with her special tea or a quick sale of the little mistake. Half of Sharkey's nieces and nephews are already working in the shadows and more will no doubt follow.

For another, Sharkey considers himself a good Catholic. He was raised by people who saw no contradiction in taking the kids to the park on Saturday and church on Sunday, and working for the Chicago mob all week. All men are sinners, so who cares about degree of sin? Sharkey goes to church at least once a week and often twice when he's a guest of the state. (This time it's for a spot of assault under an assumed name.) Sharkey is a man of faith; faith in god and faith in the man he's chosen to work for through good times and bad.

So when two guards he's never seen before grab him before breakfast, escort him through the prison kitchen, and hustle him into a waiting delivery van, Sharkey is not that surprised. It's what he's been waiting for since his arrest. The van passes through the checkpoint as Sharkey and his new friends huddle under empty bags in the back. Once safe, the three passengers change into inconspicuous suits and make themselves comfortable as the van trundles through Montparnasse and beyond the limits of Paris. There are no introductions and not much talk, but who needs that when you have a supply of beer and sandwiches to while away the time on the winding roads? Sharkey would rather eat than talk any day.

Just outside Le Mans the van pulls over behind a black Buick Century and a light blue Renault Dauphine. Everyone gets out to stretch and the drivers confer. The Century driver hands Sharkey his keys and a large sealed envelope. He then joins the driver of the van while the two fake guards get into the Renault. Sharkey watches them leave, gets into the Buick, and opens the envelope. Inside is a perfect set of papers, passport, international license, vehicle title and all. There's also a map with the town of Brest circled and a slip of paper bearing an address.

It's sunset by the time Sharkey arrives at the right address. He's suitably impressed when he pulls up to the house on the Route de Sainte-Anne du Portzic. The house is large, secluded, and beautifully landscaped. It's also guarded like a fortress, but that's not something a casual passerby would notice. No casual observer would notice Sharkey's excitement either. His is a stolid, unexpressive face that doesn't betray how much he has longed for this moment. Sharkey is greeted by an impeccable, well-armed butler and shown to a sitting room where a familiar figure in a dark blue suit stands by a window.

The two men stare at each other for a moment before Olrik extends his hand. Ignoring it, Sharkey clasps his old boss in a bear hug.

"I know you'd get me out, boss. I knew it."

Olrik suffers the embrace without complaint and only a little embarrassment.

"Of course I got you out. Where would I be without my guardian angel?"

There's an awkward silence in which Olrik pours two much-needed drinks: one gin, one bourbon. The two of them sip in silence before they start to laugh. There's no need to explain the joke, because everything is the joke. Ice broken, both men slip into their old roles, catching up on their busy lives.

"So what's next, boss?"

"For you, a little holiday. Stay here and rest, spend some time with the boys. I have a job to do alone. Political work."

Sharkey doesn't like that one bit. Political work is the worst and he doesn't understand why the boss keeps taking these jobs working with nutty guys with grand schemes. Why would anyone want to be in charge when you can just take whatever you want and not worry about running things?

"Don't look at me like that, Sharkey. Yes, you're right, it's crazy, but there's a lot of money it in and I'll jump ship before it sinks."

"Hmph. Where you headed, anyway?"

"Mother Russia. I'm catching a freighter in a few days."

This only makes Sharkey worry more, but before he can start grousing, Olrik waves him off.

"Don't worry so much, Sharkey. It's in and out. I'll be back in a month and we can do something fun, maybe a jewel heist."

"Or smuggling. That's always good."

"That's the spirit. Now let's go down to dinner. We're going to celebrate your return."

Such is Sharkey's faith that when months pass, and the house is closed up, and everyone goes their separate ways, he still waits.


	2. Second Break

**Second Break**

 _After Gondwana, but before The Necklace_

The next time it's Olrik who shows up on Sharkey's doorstep in Montmartre and there's no plan and no dinner waiting. Sharkey pulls his old boss into the modest apartment and checks the halls. Of course, there's nobody around. The boss is too smart for that.

Olrik looks like hell, though. He's unshaven and soaked with rain. Sharkey takes his coat and notes a torn lining. Olrik's wearing cheap trousers and a baggy brown sweater, both too big and less than clean. Sharkey pulls him into the galley kitchen and sits him at the little table. In the brighter light, Sharkey can see that Olrik's face is thin and peaked and he has dark circles under his eyes. Sharkey sees all these things and is horrified, but at the same time so relieved and happy he can hardly speak.

Sharkey opens a bottle of red table wine and pours two glasses.

"Thank you." Those are the first words Olrik has said since he knocked on the door. His voice sounds rusty.

"You're welcome. How'd you find me? Where have you been?"

"I've been running nonstop. Interpol." Olrik takes several long sips. "And coincidence. I saw you tossing a drunk out of Martine's the first night I got into Paris. You didn't see me, but I followed you here."

"You tailed me? Jesus." Sharkey is appalled. Yes, he's been working pretty much legally lately, but that's no excuse for getting soft. "I need to get my head in the game. What about the rest?"

"It's a long, strange story."

"I got time. I'm going to make us some sandwiches and heat up some soup, and then you're going to tell me everything. "

The wine and food put a little color into Olrik's cheeks. His account is bare and close to incomprehensible. For one thing, Sharkey can hardly believe that Olrik has endured yet another encounter with that Yellow M nuttiness, and then there's well, everything. Sharkey is too confused to be tactful.

"So you were in prison for… how long?"

"It's a gulag, not – never mind. I was there for a few weeks. It was hard to keep track of time and I wasn't in the gulag proper, you understand?"

"Yeah, I guess. Like a holding cell? But then they sold you to India?

"No, that was a private deal. Major Varitch handed me over to Ashoka for personal reasons."

"Why you? Why didn't they just get a volunteer, one of Ashoka's own guys?"

"I have no idea, Sharkey. Maybe it was because of the other times, with the waves. Maybe it was because of my connection to Mortimer."

"It doesn't make sense."

"I know. It didn't make sense while I was living it." Olrik sounds worn out, but Sharkey pushes on.

"So Ashoka was Mortimer's ex-girlfriend?"

"Astoundingly, yes."

"And you pulled a switch."

"I did."

"Why? I mean, you had to get out of there, but… I mean, what the hell?"

"It was a split-second decision. I just wanted out and I didn't have time to consider the implications."

"Was it weird?

Olrik grimaces in private amusement. "It was strange beyond belief. I can't even describe it. And meanwhile Mortimer was wandering the globe in my form."

"Did it hurt?"

"Being in Mortimer's body? No, why would it?"

"No, I mean all those waves in your brain."

Olrik holds out his glass for a refill. "It was unpleasant. It continues to be unpleasant. I have no idea how long it will take to recover this time." Olrik looks down at the table and is silent for a long time. Sharkey knows these signs. It's time to point the boss to the future.

"It sounds like a really rough time, boss. Really goddamned bad, but you made it out. You're okay and you outsmarted them so far and we'll get you fixed up."

Olrik sighs deeply. "You're right, of course. I'll contact Delaney in London, get some cash and papers, put out some feelers. I won't impose on you for long."

Sharkey nods, having benefited from the famous Delaney's legal skill. Delaney may look like a down-at-the-heels clergyman, but he's responsible for keeping some of the world's most wanted criminals on the streets.

"Yeah, sure. That's all good. But you need to rest and get better and maybe put on a pound or two. And right now you need to have another glass of wine."

"One more, but that's it. I need to stay sharp."

"You need to get some sleep." Ten years ago Sharkey would never have been so blunt.

"I am so god-damned tired." Ten years ago Olrik would never have been so open.

"Drink your wine. You can take a shower if you like, and I'll make the couch into a bed. "

"That sounds fine."

"And tomorrow I'll make a big American-style breakfast"

Olrik actually smiles at that. Sharkey is a good plain cook specializing in American standards and the Polish dishes of his mother's family. Olrik hasn't enjoyed a meal at a table in months.

"And then we'll get Delaney. If anyone can sort this shit out, he can. He's a wizard, right boss?"

"Right."

"Okay, then."

Sharkey places his massive hands on Olrik's shoulders, feeling the bones but also sharing his own warmth and strength.

"You worry too much, Sharkey. I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure. I'm just glad you're back."

Olrik pats Sharkey's forearm reassuringly. "I'm glad too. It's been… that is, it's good to see you too."


End file.
